


Light Years Away

by Volantis



Series: BARBARUS: a Fred-104/Veta Lopis Series [1]
Category: Halo (Video Games) & Related Fandoms
Genre: Developing Relationship, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Half asleep text messages, Post Halo: Retribution, Reflection, That moment when you realize you want more, Veta missing Fred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:40:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27061333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Volantis/pseuds/Volantis
Summary: It would be fantastic, and maybe even a little childish, to think he could be "the one".
Relationships: Frederic-104/Veta Lopis, Gamma Company & Veta Lopis
Series: BARBARUS: a Fred-104/Veta Lopis Series [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2037559
Comments: 11
Kudos: 21





	Light Years Away

**Author's Note:**

> Nov 19: Just a quick note that I've made some somewhat significant edits to this one, in an effort to create a stronger sense of continuity between this and "Closer Than You Know". When I wrote this, I had intended it as a stand-alone, so it was originally missing that connective tissue. The edits are a fair bit of added segments in the last half, that hopefully provide a stronger bridge between the two, and it honestly changed the emotional tone of this a lot, so I felt it was worth mentioning. A 'part 3' is in the works. ' u '

A small desk lamp provided the only light in Veta's sparse quarters, where she sat in an uncomfortable chair, studying the brushed steel coating on the walls. Exhaustion marred every inch of her, as her eyes slightly squinted. Few environments managed to be less stimulating than the lifeless grey walls of a UNSC refit anchor. Had she the spare energy to be boisterous and ungrateful about it, there'd already be three complaint memorandums waiting for Osman for sneer at.   
She and the Ferrets had arrived on the _UNSC Barbarus_ not more than eight hours ago, and already the walls felt agonizingly familiar.   
_'How anyone can live this way,'_ she thought, hoping there'd never come a time when she could understand. 

Osman's last directive had been as cut and dry as they come; she and the Gammas were listed unassigned, and given an indeterminate layover on the support station while their prowler received some much needed maintenance and refit. All very banal and clerical. None of which was out of the ordinary for Baby Dragon - except that that had been **it**. No additional orders attached, no prep specs or intel to pour over. Effectually just, "get yourself cleaned up."   
Veta found it decidedly out of character for the woman.

Post-operative maintenance and resupply was, of course, the official order submitted to _Barbarus._ Basic needs that could guarantee at least a _tolerated_ presence of ONI personnel on most docks. Veta pressed her fingertips tight to her aching eyes and leaned back in her chair - the barely hushed conversations and suspicious glances were always a tiring conclusion to any mission, and she envied the Spartan's superhuman ability to seemingly not give a damn. For her, there'd never be any room to lower her guard in a pressurized can filled with people who saw her as no less an enemy than any garden variety insurgent.  
If this was Osman's take on rest and relaxation, **well**. Veta clicked her tongue.

Fortunately, the indentured servitude of infinite paperwork offered the perfect excuse to hole up in her quarters and avoid the _thrills_ of navigating waves of hanging, ignorant, condescension. Comforting too, that the Gammas were posted in a room just across the narrow hall beyond her door. It never escaped her notice that the teens usually avoided wandering when staged like this, save for emerging to eat, exercise, or invade her space; she liked to think they were isolating in solidarity. The antisocial tactic certainly sent a message. That awkward optimism was misplaced though, she knew, and frowned against the truth. Veta knew that the truth was this type of behaviour just felt more natural for them. Terminal outcasts.

Veta's heavy gaze rested on the commpad laying face down, inches away.   
Sometimes, during long stretches between ops, Ash comes to her at night, sweaty and doing his damnedest to conceal the shaking of his hands as he asks her about things he dreams of, and what they might mean. Or Mark, letting himself in to her quarters at any hour he feels appropriate, bringing her water and granola bars, berating her for skipping meals. Veta smiled warmly, thinking about long afternoons, sitting cross-legged on the floor, telling old detective tales to Olivia, who'd be so engaged in the stories, the girl's mouth would run dry as it hung open. 

She was certainly no stranger to keeping the world at arm's length, often facing the negative social consequences of being sternly self-reliant. Veta exhaled sharply from her nose, momentarily considering the number of times she'd been branded a 'bitch' for just minding her own business.   
This new life as an agent of ONI felt wildly different though. The kind of wholesale distrust she'd been exposed to since putting on the dark greys just never let up. Even now, she couldn't tide off frustration for the collective attitude of a boat full of strangers. None of these people were hurting her feelings; it was more the cumulative, unrelenting, nature of it all. _It was tiring_. They were supposed to be on the same team, weren't they?   
Her Spartans - all Spartans - seem doomed to endure the extremity of otherness for the duration of their lives, and yet, here are these kids, looking beyond their scars to let her in. Child soldiers calling her Mom. Trusting her enough now to occasionally reveal their vulnerabilities; never demanding for reciprocation. It wasn't a trade. They just wanted her to _know_ them.   
Veta rested her head back, each blink a little slower than the last.

_'And they aren't the only ones...'_

A notification beeped from her laptop only to be ignored while Veta reached for her commpad. Yawning deeply, she scrolled through pages of old messages in Waypoint until coming upon a conversation chain from a familiar account. The brightness of the small screen was uncomfortable for her dry, reddened, eyes, as the text cursor blink impatiently.  
It was closing in on five months since she and Fred had last spoken - well, written - and it had hardly been a sentimental affair. All business, absent of any personality. That'd been her fault; a stinging regret that hung over her head every time she reopened the conversation and stared dumbly, fantasizing about what she'd say instead. 

The small keyboard sat ready, waiting. The channel _was_ monitored, as with all Waypoint comms, but how finely was ONI truly combing every point of data? Who had time for that? Veta bit her lip. 

"I can hear you now," she said aloud. _"Inspector, this isn't very professional."_ Veta mimicked his voice in a comically lowered tone. "No, Fred, it isn't...but you wouldn't be able to resist a smile, would you?"  
With a wispy laugh, Veta let her heavy eyes close, dropping the commpad to her chest.   
Another notification chirped off from the laptop, somewhere seeming far off now. 

"I do miss your handsome smile..."

  


Veta groaned deeply, rubbing at her eyes and stiffened neck, kicking an empty coffee cup off the desk as she dragged her leg from the surface. Leaning forward in the creaking chair, her shoulders jumped slightly at the sudden sound of things clattering to the floor.   
"What..." she mumbled out, opening one hazy eye to survey the room from between her fingers. _'The UNSC tub. Right.'_   
With another discomforted grumble, Veta slumped back and sighed, running a hand back through her tangled hair. It certainly wasn't the first time she'd fallen asleep at a desk, but on the prowler she had a halfway decent chair and a humidifier - abject luxury by comparison.   
As she bent to retrieve her fallen key cards and commpad, she noticed the small notification light blinking insistently - the laptop chimed in. Datapads were scattered everywhere. Another bleep from the commpad. Veta pursed her lips. _'What, no ringing phone, or barking dog?'_

Feeling all too awake now, Veta resolved to handle at least some of the mess, leaning back with the commpad in hand and turning it on.  
Fortunately, she was seated. 

**\--I do miss your handsome smile.//**

Timestamped a little over two hours ago; marked as 'read'.   
There was no response. 

All the lingering fog of sleep vanished in an instant, as Veta's chest and stomach started tightening. Determined to restrain her anxiousness, she fought to temper the rising emotions and switched into analytical mode - it was possible she may have accidentally activated a speech-to-text function on the device while handling it in an overdrawn state. 

Okay..." she said slowly, trying to ignore the heat on her face, and gathering an even breath. There wasn't any chance of taking the words back at this point, and ultimately she didn't feel so bothered by having said it; it was true anyways, albeit overtly forward, and, encrypted or not, sent over an official comm line. Moreover, it was the abruptness of such a considerably intimate expression, and the glaring absence of any response that was making her nervous. 

When she considered the last time she'd actually seen Fred, he'd been as endearing and friendly as always. Even a little more nervous and awkward than usual, actually; especially after they'd shared an unexpected moment of quiet closeness before parting ways. Veta's heart fluttered as she thought back on that impassioned embrace - mutual and comforting. The gentleness and warmth of his touch...the way her hands had fit in his...the sound of his heart beating as she pressed an ear to his chest. The emotionally charged moment had been intoxicating. The memory alone took her breath away even now, and it certainly hadn't escaped exploitation from a few enchanting dreams. 

Veta kneaded the hem of her sweater, as warmth bloomed around her collar. It was no well kept secret that they'd been growing ever closer over the last few years; their friendship strengthening into something deeper as they nervously danced around one another. Pushing the envelope with him now and then really wasn't off brand either. She enjoyed discovering his buttons, just as equally as eventually pushing them. Fred would often return her confident snark with good natured humor, if not with a bit of sass - another unexpected and keenly charming trait that'd become ever more apparent as time went by. They'd even argued once. Veta smiled as she remembered him defusing the whole event by telling some stupid joke and botching the punchline. It'd been the first time she'd heard him really, _truly_ , laugh. The joyful, unrefined, beauty of it had given her butterflies in her stomach. Still did.

After their heated parting however, there'd been silence. Maybe nothing had needed saying - maybe they both _knew_. Regardless, a pang of discomfort - guilt, more like - hung heavy in her chest, as she scrolled the conversation up to two, flat, messages hanging above. The worst of it, is that it hadn't even been an hour after he'd left. Not a heartfelt farewell. Not a promise, or a word of meaning. Literal workplace bullshit.   
Veta scoffed in disgust at the tone deaf and inconsiderate notion of sharing such an important, borderline romantic, moment with Fred, only to chase it off with little more than a curt request for some mission documents. He'd forwarded the files of course, but not until after a suspiciously upsetting delay. To compound the torment of the whole disaster, she'd never even sent a 'thanks'. Veta furrowed her brow tightly and chewed the inside of her cheek. What if Fred assumed she'd regretted the intimacy - what if **he** regretted it? 

Veta puffed out a dejected breath, leaning her head on one propped up fist. Still no answer.

It seemed entirely possible she was reading much too deeply into the margins of course. Fred was- no, he _has_ become something different to her now, but he was also still a significantly professional person.   
Surely, it was more than likely the man was just caught up in the demanding business of being a Spartan somewhere, and he'd snap back a snide quip about her decorum some time later.   
No big deal. 

Except, it still felt like it might be.   
In the grand scope of things it was a minor misstep, but Fred was a man whose entire life has been spent as a proper soldier. Would he re-evaluate and backpedal? Had he already? It was probably the _appropriate_ thing to do.  
  
Frustrated, Veta leaned back, the chair fractionally reclined. The relationship she'd built with him had become so important. All the right elements were there - they engaged well, personally and professionally. He was encouraging, capable, rolled well with a punch - literally and figuratively. Undeniably attractive; that gorgeous face got her into this mess.   
_'More than that,'_ she thought, as her hands gripped together. They seemed to understand each other's strengths, and equally, the limitations. Healthy boundaries were implicitly respected. They'd gravitated toward one another still, even after having been met with their distinct flaws; well apparent to each other's open criticisms, and yet...they drew closer still. Fred has never pushed except in matters of duty, to which she felt he seemed to carry a lot of genuine confidence in her. 

Veta stared, unmoving, into the dim light of the room, as her heart beat steady now.   
Fred was supportive, and understanding. He was **patient.**  
He felt like... 

"Like healing..." Veta whispered aloud. 

All the swirling worry was fading, as she felt her stomach slowly unknotting. This wasn't some teenage crush that would crumble under the weight of a misstep, or some vague hint of imperfection. She and Fred were two complicated people, being exposed to the other's disastrous complexity, and yet, neither was choosing to flee.   
It would be fantastic, and maybe even a little childish, to think he could be "the one". She wasn't even certain she believed in that kind of dogma, but could - if only for a moment - understand why it was so appealing to people. 

So, maybe it was okay if Fred knew for sure how beautiful she thought his smile was. Maybe, next time, she'd tell him how it made her feel to see it; maybe, she'd show him. 

_'Maybe.'_

A heavy yawn interrupted her hopeful smile, as Veta was quickly reminded just how miserably tired she still was. Turning out the desk lamp, and curling up under the blankets of her cot, Veta closed her eyes and exhaled long and slow, feeling an honest sense of ease for the first time since stepping foot on the _Barbarus_.  
Somehow, even potentially light years away, he still had her back.  


In the dark of the room, the small light of her commpad would quietly blink alone until she woke.   


**\--I miss you too...//**


End file.
